


Borderlines

by foxymandy3100



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Porn With Plot, Two Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 08:32:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14565120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxymandy3100/pseuds/foxymandy3100
Summary: France spends the night with England and worries that perhaps he went too far in his attempt to break down the wall built between them over centuries of strife. Are things meant to stay this way, dancing around each other... or could they try venturing into the new together?Posted on FF.net as Alleymills3300





	1. Borderlines

I still recall clearly the day I came across the dirty urchin in the forest… I had instantly noticed that he was different from humans, I knew clearly what he was, that the borders between us would make us enemies, but I still could not stop. Even then… at such a tender age I was completely captivated by this blonde boy, and with time that captivity to him has only grown.

 

He sits across from me never once looking up from his needlework; I sipped coffee in the other seat, his own tea gone untouched. It was so like him to focus on one thing at a time, a time and place for everything he would tell me…. Tea time is not for another hour, but I offered to make him tea with my own coffee, after all, I had invited myself in, I wouldn’t make him cater to my selfishness as well. Not for a lack of trying, but the banter would only go so far before I would step back and he would continue what he had originally been doing before my interruption, it had always been this way.

 

My eyes felt heavy, the almost deafeningly loud ticking of that blasted annoying clock was starting to turn into a soothing click in the background, I closed my eyes and tuned out the sound into a pleasant buzz. A hand rested on my shoulder and shook me, a voice gently speaking my name; my eyes fluttered open, staring up into the green depths above me. The poems I could write about those eyes…. So pure and bright, all the pain in the world has befallen him in his life and yet his eyes always seem much purer than my own, I’ll never understand how he can bottle all of that emotion into two grass green irises but he manages just fine. Perhaps the emotion in his eyes is why he’s so ornery all the time, I make the comment and receive a sharp yank to my ponytail as a response, ah, the playful banter is back.

 

My back cracks and pops in unpleasant ways and my neck it stiff, the ticking is back, I chance a glance up at the clock and almost choke, it had been hours since I arrived at noon I must have fallen asleep, I was so certain I had only just closed my eyes. “Get yourself gone, you’re not spending the night here, frog” my mental train halted I roll my eyes at the easily recognizable tone used, he’s expectant, I suppose it can’t be helped. I think I’ll spoil him a little tonight

 

Despite my experience in this field my feelings always get in the way when it comes down to it, he says understands why I treat him so gently, why I always whisper his name like a prayer, he understands that I’m France, the nation of love…. And he assumes that I treat everyone like a princess in bed, and although he would much rather a rough shag into a mattress he will accept my caring nature. But even with those kinds of comments his pants and moans are enough to tell me that I please him despite my “unbearably gentle” acts.

 

He never says my name when we’re in his bed and once we have sated ourselves I am always banned to the guest room, we would never simply sleep together; it would be far too intimate. We know our boundaries….. and that’s what I hate the most about him.

 

He know exactly where to cut me off so that I’m not even left with hope, I’m not given the ability to dream for more than a quick round at a friend’s house. He thinks he knows me so well, but he knows nothing, my feelings are so far from what he believes…. From what I lead him to believe… he doesn’t know that there’s nothing in common with my heart and my actions other than showering him with my attention.

 

The next morning will be like all of the others, I will cook him breakfast and leave it on the table with a rose and be gone before he ever wakes up, the next time we meet would be at the weekly meeting of nations and we would be frienemies once again in the eyes of all of our fellow countries.

 

This vicious never ending cycle has taken it’s toll on me, watching my blonde boy fawn over the foolish American is painful, even more so when the American is obviously not interested…. Anyone can see that, I’ve held my beautiful green eyes love as he cried over the loss of his former colony more times then I can count but he will never know that I too cry at home because I have lost him to that fool.

 

I can say that…. But I already know the truth, I never had him in my grasp… as elusive as the clouds, he is visible to me but out of my reach because of those boundaries we have set…. The mold we cast ourselves into that cannot be broken, so fragile and yet so strong, it has become second nature to avoid shattering the crystalline barrier between our friendship and much more…

 

I stare up at his window from the street, my heart aches for him, a small shift in the lace curtain alerts me that my blonde is watching. I blow him a kiss and a wink, for show, only to watch as the curtains close again, my heart races for a moment at his response, knowing that he is stomping around his home right now cursing me with all his red-faced might. I’m on his mind, that knowledge gives me shivers.

 

Last night I kissed him before we laid together….it was the first time our lips had ever met, and it was magic…. But it broke the barrier, I could feel the gears of his mind turning from under me, he didn’t moan as much as normal last night, my feelings created a fracture in our bond. I have not yet decided if that fracture is a good thing or not but it is a change.

 

I held him more last night as well, my heart raced more than ever, his name was louder…. I broke the mold….. and staring at the house as I climb aboard the bus I realize that just maybe… he realized something last night… I know I did.

 

Perhaps…. Boundaries aren’t such a bad thing…. Because with boundaries… people notice when you break them. I wonder…. did you understand my feelings…….Arthur?

 

 


	2. New world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England's POV

That bloody frog! I stomp around the apartment in an annoyed huff until the china in my cabinets shake and clatter around. Finally I take a deep breath and collect myself, it wouldn't do for a gentleman like myself to be seen in such a state.

 

I give a sigh and pull back the curtains once more, watching the bus pull away from my house, this morning things had returned to normal but last night was...different. I let the lace fall closed, I shouldn't keep thinking about it... it's in the past and that is that. I go to the kitchen to begin a meal only to find the customary rose that has become associated with the Frenchman and a pre-cooked breakfast “lovingly” made for me.

 

Wait. Lovingly?! What am I thinking?

 

My mind wanders back on last night again my better judgment, I have to stop thinking about it. I can feel heat rising back up to my cheeks but I can't help myself, his voice, his touch, the way his eyes bore into mine when he leaned down to seal our lip together..

 

“AHHH! Stop thinking about it!”

 

I quickly take a throw pillow from the loveseat and smash my face into it, yelling out a string of very undignified curses into the cotton. The scratch of his beard over my cheek and chin while he hovered above my face as he pressed into me and rocked. God, our joining was even more unbearable gentle than normal...i can't stand it.

 

Much as I’ve told him to stop that, he has never done as I ask, would it kill the man to just throw me into bed and have his way with me? But no, he would never do what I want him to, he never has, after centuries of knowing him why would it change now?

 

I huff and groan, he is so unbearably gentle, every time he comes here for a visit we end up in the bedroom, it's like he thinks I’m some sort of woman he needs to woo and make love to. I'm a man, damn him. No! I'm more than a man! I'm the bloody United Kingdom! How dare that frog treat me like a woman!

 

And now he kisses me! He kissed me.... my heart is fluttering uncontrollably and it drives me mad, my eyes are glued to the rose on the table, I reach out picking it up, the stem is squared, he took the time to cut away the thorns for my sake... How can he make it so impossible to be angry with him.

 

I can't help the way I ache for him to be here now, if he were here I could scream at him... scream until I couldn't feel the way my chest constricts as I remember last night. I know this feeling and I wish he were here to distract me from it, I’m longing for him.

 

Damn you...

 

Damn you!...

 

I've held those barriers for so long and in one move he shatters them. He kissed me and now I can't get it out of my head.... I want him to come back to me, to take the loneliness out of this house... the house where I raised my colonies... the colonies that left me behind.

 

It's so lonely here, so lonely I don't think I can stand it any longer and then suddenly he'll show up, he'll bring me a rose, he'll insult my cooking, he'll laugh and drink with me and we'll argue about which is better, rum or wine... I still think rum is much better, thank you, We'll talk for hours and then he'll chase the last of my loneliness away when we lay down for the night.

 

And then I’m alright, no... I can pretend I’m alright for another week....

 

I was so sure of myself, that I could keep doing this... and just like that, he kissed me and now...... now I.

 

I'm in my bedroom, why did I come here.... the remains of our act is left in my sheets, I was too tired to clean them last night..... I can smell him in the room.

 

Come back..

 

I can't take how lonely I am, how my heart aches, please don't leave me alone. Come back, please.

 

With a simple kiss you've unraveled me... left me bare to you, centuries of hard work to keep you away gone to waste and I can't bring myself to care, come home and kiss me again you stupid frog, hold me and touch me gently like you always do, wash away all the pain and loneliness I feel and never let me go again.

 

I understand why you've always been so gentle with me, now.... I understand. So just come back.

 

Is that knocking?

 

Who's knocking on the door?

 

I quickly go down to check the door, oh, I still have the rose in my hand, too late to put it down now. I reach out and open the door and he's there, he's standing in front of me and I can't move, I can't speak, I can't breathe. Every nerve in my body aches and I want to soar from joy but melt from pain, what is this feeling?

 

“Arthur? Why are you crying?”

 

Am I crying? It seems I am because he reaches out and wipes over my cheek and there is water on his hand and god why does his touch feel so good, oh.... I’m leaning into it but he's not pulling away. He's smiling at me and I’m scared for a moment as if he can hear my thoughts, maybe he can because he pulls me into his arms and holds me against his chest.

 

The answer seems so simple now, the questions i'd been asking myself were concluded in that one move, he's never held me this before and I.... I can't imagine going the rest of my life without him holding me like this. I close my eyes and bury my face into his chest, the faint musk of French cologne rolls off him and it smells like home to me.

 

Have I really become so used to him that he smells like home?

 

I can't help myself, I smile, because all this time I was pushing him away but I can't anymore, just like that, with one kiss he crossed that borderline and everything that had been forced back was rushing out like a levee had broken and emotions poured out like water.

 

“hey frog.... do that thing you did last night again.”

 

He didn't need to be told what I meant, he simply reached down and cupped my cheek, tilted my head and connected our mouths together, this was more than a brush of lips, there was no mistaking it, this was a kiss.

 

We stayed like that for what felt like hours, my admittedly smaller frame wrapped in his arms, kissing in the doorway to my living room.

 

“whatcha doing iggy?”

 

and just like that the moment was gone, my defenses came up and I shoved the Frenchman away from me and into the doorway, knocking over the American boy behind him as well.

 

“YOU DAMNED FROG! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!?”

 

The two males on my floor groan and I feel my head rushing, heat coursing through me from how red my face is. France looks up at me with apologetic blue eyes and rolls off the American.

 

“Je suis désolé, ma chérie. I remembered I had left my train pass in my wallet”

 

He motions to the wallet sticking out of the armchair cushion, it had obviously fallen there and gotten stuck and it suddenly makes sense why he came back.

 

“Amérique met me at the station on his way here and offered to pay my way till I got my wallet back”

 

The unspoken question of why he kissed me in front of the American was left alone for the time being as I went to make some tea for my “guests”. it was a good enough excuse to get out of the room. I was glad to be in the kitchen and out of view.

 

My heart was racing and the anger and embarrassment were gone quickly enough, replaced by a warm sensation, maybe Alfred had seen something I didn't want him to but somehow I couldn't bring myself to care, last night wasn't a mistake, Francis has meant to kiss me.

 

My eyes closed as I waited for the water to boil, my thoughts slipping back into the soft haze they'd been in all morning, wrapped around France and his stupid... his...delightful affections. I really have to stop lying to myself.

 

I've been pretending too long that I don't want him to be good to me that it's second nature, to be honest, I love it when he's sweet to me. I love it when he takes care of me, when he kisses me simply because I want him to.

 

I'm smiling, I can feel it, it's not a normal expression for me, normally I'd scowl but I'm too happy to right now.

 

I can feel the presence behind me before I hear the shoes come to a stop, expensive loafers, there's a click to the heels, America always wears sneakers, even with his suits. I know who's in the room before I turn around but when i do I'm met with beautiful blue eyes standing way too close to me for me to think clearly.

 

I can feel his breath on his face and his hands come to rest on my sides, sensual but soft, keeping me steady and away from the stove so I won't burn myself but demanding my attention which is a moot point since my attention is on those delightful fingers dancing over my shirt and how I can feel their heat through the material rather than anything that deep voice is whispering into my hair.

 

His lips move from in my hair toward my cheek and then down towards my jaw before finding their way to my neck and it feels unlike all the other times he's done this, so different but it's the same movements, perhaps I had been tuning out those touches before because now it feels like my body is on fire and I want more of that perfect burn.

 

Why do our bodies have to fit so perfectly together, when pressed so closely. It feels like we are living puzzle pieces that are just meant to be connected, however corny that sounds. My head falls back and I let out a low moan as he leaves a blooming mark in the now bared flesh of my shoulder, he is too good to me and I can't help myself, I want more of him. My hands run up the back of his neck to tug on his ponytail, his head lifts to look at me, and our eyes make a connection. without a word passing, he has me pressed to the side to the counter and is practically ravaging my mouth with his own.

 

And now I understand why they call it a french kiss.

 

A voice from the living room stops us and we are forced to pull apart, our eyes lock as we stand, encircled in each other's arms, panting in the midst of the kitchen, the whistle of the kettle the only sound left in the world anymore. After a comment about not wanting to be around when we “ get it on, ” America pulls the kettle off the stove and shows himself out of my home.

 

We are left alone.

 

I regrettably part from him and traverse the kitchen to grab the tea bags from my cabinet when I feel his hand on mine, he's stopping me. I turn to face him and I know that expression, I've seen it many times before, I know what he will say before he says it. I lift a finger, resting it upon his lips the moment they open, hushing him.

 

“ stay the night ?”

 

it is a simple question but he understands, just as he has always understood. He doesn't need to nod, I know he'll stay.

 

We spend the day as we normally would, laughing, drinking, and insulting each other, and when night comes we go to my room but instead of wanting something rough and hard to remind myself that I can't have him, I give in and we make love.

 

I let him touch me gently as he always had and I respond in return, soft and loving touches passing between us and when we finish he gets up to go to the guest room but for the first, I stop him.

 

We slept together last night, for the first time in all the years I've known him, it was more than company, more than sex, it was intimate, it was intimate.

 

My eyes flutter open the next morning to find the spot next to me empty and I panic for a split second, is he gone as he normally is? I go over to the window, looking out to see the bus pull away, my heart sinking as low as it can get.

 

I'm slow to dress myself this morning and slower to go downstairs, I don't want to see the rose on the table, to be reminded of how I feel like I'm being ripped apart but eventually I'll have to go down to the kitchen so I bite back the pain and head for the stairs.

 

I'm in the door to the kitchen but there is no rose left on the table, instead there are a dozen roses in the vase he got me for my birthday last year, the one I told him that I threw away but secretly hid and treasured, and there in front of the stove is my ocean eyed lover.

 

Is it safe to call him lover now? I wonder...

 

he faces me and brings the omelette he cooked over to the table, putting it on a plate before returning the pan to the sink, and it's obvious in the silence, we're both thinking the same thing, was last night a one-time thing?

 

I can feel the tension in the air and my chest clenches tightly, is it worth it? We've been this way for centuries and a romance after all that would be new and foreign territory, could we handle it? After all, we do fight quite often, would we be an “on and off” couple?

 

Is it a good idea to break all that we'd had, the years of friendship over a one night stand?

 

And then I realized, nothing has really changed, France has always been this way, gentle, kind, loving.. had he truly been standing there all of this time with his hand held out to me, just waiting patiently for me to take it and come to him?

 

I don't have to think about it anymore, I cross the kitchen in three strides, strong and sure of myself, this is right, I want this. I stand on tiptoes and kiss him softly and I can feel him relax, it's been finalized.

 

“good morning Francis”

 

the normal nickname of “frog” is gone for now, and it's different... but.. maybe different isn't really a bad thing.

 

Today, the wall that we put up to protect ourselves for so long came crashing down but I'm not afraid of this anymore, because as of today the borderlines are gone and I'm standing, hand in hand, with the man I love as we walk toward a new world where we'll never be alone again.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
